


Life on the Outside

by Pkay11



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Education, Mental Health Issues, Real Life, Self-Discovery, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:00:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29957889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pkay11/pseuds/Pkay11
Summary: Semi-autobiographical, with familiar faces appearing throughout.





	1. Chapter 1

I was four, perhaps five. The news was on the television. Something about a wedding. Maybe a celebrity wedding, I couldn't quite tell. Anyhow, it was of course between a man and a woman. Even being so unseasoned, I grasped how that was the norm. I turned to my dad, asking him why one never saw two males or two females tying the knot. He more or less just shrugged and said "they do" (by which he must have been referring to unofficial ceremonies, as they wasn't any legal recognition of same-sex relationships then). That was one of the first signs that I was different.

\---

A couple of years later, we went on holiday. One of those tacky parks in England. Full of arcades, bad live entertainment, underwhelming accomodation, mediocre food. 

The arcades I frequented regularly during the days there. Probably cost my parents a bomb. I had yet to have any kind of video game system at home, so shoving those two pence pieces into machines in the hope of jagging a keyring was more exciting than it otherwise would have been. At that, any damn thing is exciting regardless.

On a particularly afternoon, I was on one of the games that was made up of a racing car seat, with the racing simulated on the screen in front. The other children who were there, mostly older than me in probability, gathered round. I announced , stupidly, that I had a 'shortcut' - by driving over the grass. Yes, I wasn't exactly Senna, Schumacher, Hamilton, Stewart, Bradham or anyone else who has aced Formula One. That's another thing, I'm not even that into F1, but my mind is crammed full of trivia lists, probably helped by endless watching of game shows. Anyhow, the children became to giggle at me, making me feel different, like I was just some outside weirdo. Well, I probably was, but did they have to be so explicit?

That holiday contrasted with one that we had twelve months earlier. Another holiday park, but one that felt more respectable, and one that was located relatively close to where my paternal grandparents lived. During those two weeks, I enjoyed the good food at the pub-bar-restuarant place, fed the ducks, went for walks, but most of all I was enthusiastic about getting out of bed each morning. Why? Because of cricket. We had brought some equipment, and a nearby family joined in. Lovely people. They left after the first week, but others joined in afterwards. 

Maybe, for the first six or seven years of one's life, everyone kind of moulds into their surroundings. People aren't judged for being eccentric, because more or less everyone is eccentric up until then anyway. It kind of sucked, as they say, that even on holidays, I struggled to fit in. They were supposed to be welcome escapes from school.

Ah, yes, school. A poignant topic, more poignant than the topics that were actually taught.

Let's start with nursery. That went well enough, but in my mind I was probably desperate to get back home to watch Thomas the Tank Engine on VHS. I started off at an independent nursery, then went to one that was part of my eventual primary school. 

Primary school. Now that was a journey. One that merits a chapter in and of itself. All of school, in that case.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School.

The signs were there early on.

Thomas the Tank Engine. That again. It had various mimeable tunes, one of which was played when the Fat Controller/Sir Topham Hatt appeared. On at least one occasion I loudly humed it during reception class (pre-year one). The other five year-olds were clearly annoyed, and already, perhaps, began to grasp my space cadet status. It was during that year that I used a computer for the first time, it at least that's how I remember it. I played some version of Pac-Man. Little did I know the extent to which my life would revolve around virtual reality, how much it would provide a useful escape to the grim surroundings I was engulfed in.

Year one. I think that was the year I was taught by a former next-door neighbour. Family life will be dealt with in a later chapter in some depth, but let's just say that things didn't go entirely smoothly when he was only a wall removed from us (yes, we lived in a terraced house). Went okay, although the signs of outsiderism continued to manifest themselves. I would be naive in social situations, doing things purely at the request of my friends (fiends?) that would occasionally land ms in trouble. The headteacher at this time was a rather imposing woman, who may be been quite nice. I probably saw her as a female version of the Controller. 

The next two years or so were fairly mundane, but at some point I ceased to have the will to attend school sufficiently. That led to one or two home visits from the next headteacher. A nice enough person, but her dragging me back into class was a tad traumatic. It was around this time, perhaps slightly after, that I had a mini-fight with a classmate. This was the stage where I became concious of active unpopularity, even hostility. The hostility died down but the unpopularity would remain. I consoled myself, I think, with the delicious chicken shaped breadcrumb things that they used to serve us in the dining hall. Jamie Oliver hadn't quite won his war against Turkey Twizzlers yet.

One or two more naive events followed, ones which turned me from outcast into outcasted buffoon. By the end of primary school I developed a reputation for reading books which wouldn't usually be associated with ten year-olds. The Guinness Records books, cricketing statistics books, books on television programmes that probably few others in the class paid attention to. Oddly enough, being able to memorize that Don Bradman averaged 99.94 didn't exactly lead to a Mr Popularity fate. Oh, and the teacher during years five and six was horrible, wicked. Probably not, but that's the filtered imagery in my mind. I first encountered her on a weekend school trip, where she spied on us in our dorm until we fell asleep. Just a bit pushy, snobbish. Not happy about me being always late either, although that's understandable.

On that last day, tellingly, I left at lunchtime, without much in the way of a proper goodbye. To anyone.

\---

Secondary school.

The one I ended up going to had a good reputation, despite it literally burning down about a year before. A number of my primary school friends went there. I wasn't over the moon, but at least it would ensure some degree of familiarity. 

It was big. Very big. Intimidatingly big. To this I refer to the number of students. About a thousand, a dream audience level for the local football team. The building itself, due to the fire, wasn't really there. Our tutor group was located in the one section of remaining building. The rest consisted of mostly charmless portacabins.

Prior to going I had found out that the head was an old friend of my father. It turned out he was interested in darts, a subject that I was passionate about for years. I could recite checkout combinations, name world champions, all of that. This gave him and me a bit of a bond, for a while. Alas, I didn't have this bond with my classmates.

One problem was that I was fat. Obese, to be frank. Thus meant that, regardless of my insular personality, I got noticed. Had I been a slim Jim then I would have been possibly the most obscure person in the place, which would have suited me more. Thankfully, I wasn't bullied much.

Darts. Darts again. That was an attempt, a kind one on the part of certain teachers, to help me fit in. A lunchtime darts club was set up. It didn't really work. What pun can we use here? It didn't checkout, it missed the bullseye. Ho ho ho. I'm so good aren't I? The more enjoyable lunchtimes were when I got to sit at a computer and browse the internet. This was before social media was big. Looking up darts news, reading Wikipedia articles, all that cool stuff. None of his lame socialising crap for me, thank you ta. 

Academically, things weren't much better. I was never one of the dummies, but my tendency towards autodidacticism meant that I could only listen to a teacher's ramblings for a limited amount of time. Let's do a summary of the subjects, from what I can remember:

Maths - This was okay. My darts geekery came in handy for mental arithmetic. The African guy who taught us in years eight and nine was good.

English - Not bad. I dreaded the occasions when class members were expected to read aloud. One of the female teachers was hilarious.

Science - The most memorable moments are when a somewhat hotheaded would make us write out lines for being noisy on the way into class. I was never noisy, but then one isn't judged on an individual basis in these situations.

Various humanities subjects - Probably the best for me, although I once got caught looking up porn on the computer. Part of a dare or something 

Music/performing arts - The school supposed speciality were the performing arts. Not to my liking in general, although I did come up with lyrics for a song. They went, as I recall, as follows:

"Rifles rifles  
Causing misery and pain  
Rifles rifles  
Who should get the blame  
And it's peace one day  
War tomorrow  
Everyone fighting  
Causing pain and sorrow"

Really good, apparently. I'm still waiting for the millions to roll into my bank account. Anyway, back to the subjects:

PE - Having to show off my body fat in front of dozens of lads. Not great for the self-esteem at that age. As for the activities themselves, I was the Pele of being bad at football, the Bolt at bring bad at running and the Jordan at being bad at basketball. Alas, there wasn't an activity involving the reeling off of the names of legendary sports figures.

By the third year, the new building had been completed. It was a lot more intimidating, far more imposing, than those uncharismatic but cosy portacabins. This was also around the time when puberty began to kick in, so discussed topics amongst my peers started turning towards love interests. I wasn't interested. Well, I was, but not to mindlessly gossip about it. I started attending less. And less. This all had significant consequences for myself and others. Had I had a wider brain at circa 14 years old then I'd have probably been more willing to swallow shit. Our society, unfortunately, doesn't really accomdate for those who aren't pack animals.

Friends-wise, I still had none. Not really. Some people were nice on a basic civilised level. A moment that stands out, towards the end of my time there, was when I was situated at a computer. Yes, that again. A girl was sat in front of me, and as my hand was off the mouse she grabbed it, as seeming hers had ceased to work. I was briefly shocked, and then I ran out of the room. Crying, a teacher (of French) spotted me and tried to consul me. I think I did attend the place after that, but that more or less marked the end in an emotional sense.

The school staff were well-meaning to me. They would place me in clubs for the 'special' students, not something I objected to as it got me away from the crowd. Others in such groups would come and go as they developed 'social skills', but I remained in them throughout most of the time there. A common thread emerged - I could talk to adults, but not to fellow children. We just didn't click. Pardon the computer pun.

Had they found out what was wrong, maybe that period of life would be written with a different hue.


End file.
